


Of Quiet Birds in Circled Flight

by Vortaesthetic



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-29
Updated: 2017-10-29
Packaged: 2019-01-26 06:37:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12551380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vortaesthetic/pseuds/Vortaesthetic
Summary: Remember me well.





	Of Quiet Birds in Circled Flight

Odo felt numb.

It was over. Their desperate, daring gambit to steal back to Deep Space Nine and win the high ground was a failure. Just when it seemed that there was hope for a getaway, all hope had been dashed against the icy rocks of the kuiper belt that they had taken refuge in. The hunting dogs had been determined. Weyoun Six, seeing no way forward without further jeopardizing Odo's life, had chosen to take his own instead to call off the chase.

Never in a million years would Odo ever have thought that he would be in this position, cradling a dead Weyoun clone, having offered him the succor that only his changeling god could provide him in his final seconds. Odo may have been extremely uncomfortable with the unwanted worship of the Vorta, but his blessing had given the dying man such profound peace that it was worth the momentary discomfort. The look on Weyoun's face as he passed, peaceful and content without a trace of fear, would stick in Odo's memory forever. This was more than guilt. This felt like an omen. Like a promise, almost. Something in Odo had changed. Something in the universe had changed. He didn't know what that meant for his future yet, but he knew he would figure it out soon. The universe was a strange place and life had strange ways. It would lead him to where he needed to be. He just had the sinking feeling that it would be far away from DS9 and everything else he loved.

Two hours had passed since the Jem'Hadar had pulled away and  ~~their~~ _his_  battle-worn ship drew ever-nearer to Deep Space Nine. The autopilot subroutine notified him that they had just re-entered communications range and would be arriving at Deep Space Nine in forty five minutes. Odo distractedly acknowledged the message. One hundred and twenty minutes after the dust settled, he found he was still glued in place, his back pressed to the cool bulkhead behind him. Weyoun's head was still cradled in his lap, as if he were merely sleeping. It felt wrong to move him, or to place him in the body bag and zip him away out of sight.

It felt wrong to leave him after all that had happened.

After all that had been sacrificed that day.

So he stayed in place, anchored by this strange sense of loss. Odo issued commands to the autopilot program and hailed the station using voice command. He shut off the interior video feed for good measure-- whatever had happened here was only the business of a select few and he wanted to keep this as quiet as possible.

"Federation Runabout  _Rio Grande_  to Deep Space Nine, do you copy?"

"Loud and clear, Constable. How can I help you?"

"I need you to alert Captain Sisko and Doctor Bashir to meet me at Docking Bay C immediately when we arrive."

"Relaying the message, sir. We'll see you shortly."

* * *

 

The infirmary was on total lockdown until further notice. Outgoing communications had been temporarily suspended. Curfew was enacted early tonight to empty out the promenade and reduce the likelihood that the civilian population of the station would catch wind of what exactly was going on behind these closed doors.

Sisko, Odo, and Bashir sat around a triage table in the infirmary, the small, thin body of the defector draped and covered by a crisp white sheet, tucked neatly around his form. The seat next to the table held his few personal effects; his pointed shoes with the socks stuffed into their openings, his shirt, pants, and coat all neatly folded and stacked on top of one another. There were no other items. The time had come to draw conclusions and make decisions while the events were still fresh, to try to spin this into a victory wherever possible. To find a way to make this into more than a missed call with Fortune.

“I certainly wasn't planning on meeting him today. Had I known who I was going to meet, I probably wouldn't have gone out there. Regardless of how everything came together, it happened. It just didn't turn out the way I had hoped,” Odo explained. “Knowing what I know now... I'm glad that I went.”

Sisko shook his head. “It was close.  _You_  were close. If he had made it here, we could be playing the winner's hand right now. It would have been a great opportunity... but I guess it just wasn't meant to be. It could have turned out worse. I'm glad that that didn't happen.”

When Sisko and Bashir greeted him in the runabout upon docking, they'd been prepared to administer to Odo's grave wounds. They were surprised to find that Odo was in fact, perfectly healthy and that it was  _Weyoun_  that he had requested the assistance for. Weyoun, who had been deceased for three hours. Weyoun, whose very presence on a Federation runabout demanded an explanation that Odo wasn't yet ready to give.

So that conversation waited until now. It could not be put off any longer. Decisions had to be made-- what to do with the body was first on that list. Between the three of them, they debated the subject of custody. Weyoun had intended to defect from the Federation-- but he never actually made it into the hands of a Federation official. Odo may be allied closely with Sisko and the Federation, but he was not of their organization. Odo argued that he was acting in a personal capacity on that mission since his affiliation with the Bajoran Militia was officially suspended in the face of their non-aggression pact with the  Dominion. Weyoun explicitly gave Odo “ownership” of him personally when they met in the cave.

Sisko could have fought harder against Odo if he had wanted to. It wasn't worth it. He could see the look on Odo's face, a mix of guilt, confusion, and anger that he tried to hide. Something happened on that runabout that was intensely personal. He didn't have the heart to fight him over something like this.

Julian could see it too.

Odo won that round. But now it was time to decide more critical matters-- what was to be done with the body. Odo's stance on scientific experimentation and data collection was not a secret-- he was staunchly against experimentation on sentient creatures (living or not), but unfortunately his was not the only word to consider. There was intense pressure from Starfleet Headquarters for the body to be submitted for intensive study, in hopes that any scrap of information gleaned from it could assist in the war effort.

The hard part of that was bringing the subject up to him knowing how he felt. Knowing what he was going to say. But they had to ask anyway.

“Odo...this doesn't have to be a total loss,” Julian said, quietly. “There may still be hope for this yet.”

“What do you mean? He's dead. Everything he knows, he took with him.”

“...you said earlier that he had mentioned having implants. Obviously, he does-- his death is proof that the termination implant exists, there must be some other device implanted in order to transfer the memories of previous clones. A memory transcorder, perhaps? Some of them may be recoverable, assuming the termination implant didn't damage them. I would have to do an autopsy to extract them, but there may be useful data on those devices. If we could access those files, we may not have completely lost this opportunity.”

Odo nodded in agreement. If such a device could be obtained from the body, it could greatly benefit the Federation. He could accept that. Weyoun probably would have wanted that, so that at least something good would have come from his life.

“It's not just that, though. What happened today...this is still a gift. Currently, we know next to nothing about Vorta biology-- but this could change ALL of that. Think about it: we could sequence their genome, pull tissue samples, establish cell lines for analysis, refine our data on Dominion implant and cloning technologies, get detailed anatomy analyses--”

“No,” Odo said firmly. “I accept that the implants need to be removed for study. That's fine. But I won't consent for him to be put in jars, spread on slides and turned into a spreadsheet.”

“Odo--”

“No. And that's the final answer. I didn't know him well, but I do know he deserves dignity. Being broken down into variables and observations and data...that's turning him into a weapon again. That's what he ran away from in the first place. That shouldn't be his legacy.”

“I understand. Trust me. I do,” Julian said. “I was required to ask. I can remove the implants during the autopsy. I'll call both of you when I'm done.”

“...Thank you, Julian. Captain,” Odo nodded gravely. “If you need me, I will be in my quarters.”

* * *

The next morning found Odo on a runabout to Bajor, with Nerys at his side. Nerys sipped quietly at her coffee as she watched a subspace telecast of the Dahkur Temple morning prayer ceremonies. In Odo's lap rested a small urn, a simple unfinished wooden box weighted with ashes. They were headed to a river valley in the north of the continent where Nerys had taken to burying her honored dead. She'd chosen the place for many reasons; it was near the home she was born in, on the soils she'd fought the hardest to reclaim, and because her father once grew his treasured garden there.

When Odo had spoken to her last night of what had happened on the runabout, she'd offered the memorial garden to him in a heartbeat. Odo had no place to put his loved ones. The least she could do is give him a space to scatter the ashes of a friend, to give him a quiet resting place.

“It's hard to believe that this is him,” Odo mumbled, shifting the simple urn in his hands, listening to the slide of the sandy ashes inside. “We burned his body and and now he fits into this little box. He's so light.”

Nerys took his hand then, squeezing it tight as she studied the box in Odo's hands. “What are you going to do with him? Are you going to bury the ash or scatter it?”

Odo gingerly set the box back into the black velvet bag he'd received it in. “I don't know yet. I don't know what he would have wanted.”

“I think you should scatter him in the river. And in the wind. He could travel the world that way, see all of the things that he never got the chance to see. Maybe now he can see the things he was never able to before. What do you think?”

Odo could just imagine the ashes spreading on the winds, through the river. He thought of the freedom of wild birds soaring high in the skies and the vastness of the sea. There can be no more free a place to rest in peace than the whole of a wild, beautiful world and he knew that Weyoun would probably agree.

Odo nodded his head solemnly. “I think that's a wonderful idea.”

**Author's Note:**

> The name is nicked from a popular poem associated with grieving, "Do Not Stand At My Grave and Weep," by Mary Elizabeth Frye.
> 
> "Do not stand at my grave and weep   
> I am not there. I do not sleep.   
> I am a thousand winds that blow.   
> I am the diamond glints on snow.   
> I am the sunlight on ripened grain.   
> I am the gentle autumn rain.   
> When you awaken in the morning's hush   
> I am the swift uplifting rush   
> Of quiet birds in circled flight.   
> I am the soft stars that shine at night.   
> Do not stand at my grave and cry;   
> I am not there. I did not die."


End file.
